


Archbishop of Banterbury (your dick in me)

by becka



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, First Time, Football | Soccer, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7073884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the day of the match, the bet is this: should the England side lose, Louis’s promised to rip his kit off at the end of the match and kiss Mourinho’s feet in penance; and should the England side win, Niall will strip naked in England’s changing room and let all the lads at him with sharpies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Archbishop of Banterbury (your dick in me)

**Author's Note:**

> Set directly after the Soccer Aid 2016 game (but written beforehand, so I take no responsibility for the actual outcome). Also obviously none of this is real.
> 
> Thanks to [Lucy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/balefully) for reading this over a whole bunch of times, and my Twitter timeline for reassuring me about the stupid pun in the title. <33

It’s just banter, average everyday trash talk between lads on rival sides. They start it off on Twitter, but Niall escalates it quickly to text, and Louis thinks how much he’s missed him, the ease of Niall’s constant presence. Seeing him in LA was nice, but this is normal. This is like slipping on his most comfortable hoodie and settling in with FIFA on the bus. The rhythm that settles something in him he didn’t know was off.

One week in, there are wagers made, and by the time the match rolls around, they’ve ramped the stakes not high but weird, nothing off-limits except insinuations about each other’s mums. They fall together during the few days of training, all the lads from both sides getting to know each other, having a laugh in the bar, Niall always in arm’s reach. Sometimes they catch each other’s eye and smile at something someone’s said, years of shared history tying them together, even if they don’t really talk about the past, or the future, or anything beyond the humiliating forfeits the losing man will have to endure at the weekend.

So on the day of the match, the bet is this: should the England side lose, Louis’s promised to rip his kit off at the end of the match and kiss Mourinho’s feet in penance; and should the England side win, Niall will strip naked in England’s changing room and let all the lads at him with sharpies.

“Looking forward to your footwork at the end of the match,” Niall calls out when they’re tied at the half. 

Louis can’t flip him off in front of the refs, but he gives his brightest, most stinging smile, and calls back, “Ah, lad, my real art will come afterward.” 

Fat fucking chance Louis would get his kit off in front of thousands of people with cameras. England wins, and in the chaos on the pitch after, Louis catches Niall’s eye and jogs over to shake his hand. “Maybe your side would’ve done better if you’d played a bit harder out there, Nialler.”

Niall grins. “Only if you want me laid up for a month after. See how fast I fill up your texts when I’m bored out of me head in traction.”

“Not much of a threat,” says Louis, before he’s hustled back to the changing rooms in a tussling pack of his teammates. He thinks Niall’ll show, but for some reason it’s not as funny now they’ve won, him and this room full of men, some of them proper footballers, nearly all of them older than he is. They may not even want to draw dicks on the face of the opposing team’s assistant manager.

Niall turns up just as Louis steps out of the shower, and Louis watches him chatting to Marvin, head thrown back in that laugh of his. Half the side’s already gone, somehow, and Louis saunters over in his towel to gloat a little more.

First thing Niall does is fish a sharpie out of his jacket pocket and hand it over, accepting the forfeit and taking the ceremony out of it. Louis manages not to frown.

“What’s that then?” Marvin asks.

“I told Lou you all could go after me with a marker if you won,” Niall replies matter-of-factly. “And I’m a man of my word.”

Marvin chuckles. “This is not going to end well for you, mate. We never even let Alaia near the permanent ones, and you’ve seen the state of our walls.”

Niall shrugs. “Washing my face is easier than repainting.”

Louis holds out the marker. “First go is yours if you want.”

Marvin takes it and very carefully writes ENGLAND IS #1 across Niall’s forehead. “There you go,” says Marvin, handing it back. “Capture all this for posterity once it’s done, yeah? I’ve got to go meet Roch.”

It’s easier after that, getting the other lads to have a go. Niall is cheerful and pliant, making small talk as the lads graffiti up his face. When he shrugs out of his jacket, Louis remembers he'd said he'd strip naked, but it doesn't matter much now. Louis offers his art critic's eye to the proceedings as they take on Niall's arms as well, until he's covered in slogans and doodles. Only a couple of dicks though, and not on his face, which is a shame, although Jack Whitehall’s is elaborate and hairy and covers most of Niall’s left forearm.

People filter out of the changing rooms until it's just Niall and Louis, Louis only in a towel still. Stupid, really, but he hadn’t wanted to leave the proceedings to change. He hasn’t wanted to stop looking at Niall.

"Ready for your go?" Niall asks. He wags the sharpie in front of Louis.

“I was expecting full-frontal,” Louis tells him, and they stare at each other for a long moment, but Louis knows he’s already won. Niall always blinks first.

“Fair’s fair,” Niall says, bending down to untie his trainers and place them neatly together with his socks inside. Next he pulls his t-shirt up and over his head, meeting Louis’s eyes again when it’s off, a challenging spark Louis doesn’t recognize in there. He goes for the elastic waist of his tracksuit bottoms next, rolling them slowly down his hips. Louis’s heartbeat kicks up. Niall’s not doing it like a challenge, he’s doing it like a striptease, working them down to the tops of his slim thighs. Louis very carefully doesn’t look at the outline of his dick in his pants. Niall doesn’t say anything.

He pulls his trackies off the rest of the way and folds them neatly on the bench, and then he’s just stood there in his pants. Like he was always supposed to be, but somehow Niall’s gone and twisted it all around, so he’s got all the power and Louis’s breath is caught uselessly in his throat as he stares.

Niall’s dick is just _there_ , bulging out the front of his black briefs, definitely at least a little hard. And Louis’s always liked dicks, found them sort of fundamentally pleasing, but he’s never given much thought to whether he liked Niall’s dick in particular. Which is what Niall seems to be offering him, practically tied up with a bow. This isn’t idle banter. But Niall’s eyes fix on the sharpie in Louis’s hand, just as though this is still about the forfeit, and Louis steps forward to do his part.

The marker hits Niall’s ribs, just below his right nipple, and Louis figures that’s as good a place as any to start, so he sketches out a pair of balls and then a dick that skates across to his left pec. Niall holds still for him, barely breathing, watching the ink bloom on his skin, and Louis has trouble focusing on the line of spurting come drops he draws disappearing down Niall’s side. Niall is so easy under his hands.

“Is that all?” Niall asks, when Louis pauses. 

Louis realizes he wants an excuse to keep touching him, wonders if Niall wants the same. “Won’t get a tattoo, but you like this.” Louis remembers drawing over the scar on Niall’s knee, making something else of it so Niall stopped looking sadly at his own skin. He remembers the way Niall’s breath caught as Louis cupped a hand around his calf, and it starts to mean something new.

Niall looks up. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s weighted down, heavier than a single word should be. 

Louis drops the sharpie and kisses him. He doesn’t let himself doubt it, catching Niall’s mouth with his, lips already parting. The towel comes undone at his waist as they collide, and it’s so ridiculous that Louis huffs a laugh against Niall’s cheek. Anyone could come back into the changing rooms now to find them snogging basically naked, Niall covered in marker pen doodles. But Niall’s a good fucking kisser, and almost as soon as he thinks of it, he’s lost again in the softness of Niall’s mouth.

He backs Niall into a wall, leaving the towel behind completely, and now Niall’s fingers are catching in his hair, making a mess of it while Louis’s hands settle on his narrow waist. The bitter scent of ink fills Louis’s nose, but underneath is the warm, familiar mix of clean sweat and Niall’s cologne. And that’s never struck Louis as sexy before, but want is blooming in his belly now, making him reckless. Louis bites at his mouth when the softness is too much for him, and it earns him a heartfelt little sound from Niall, something between a sigh and a whimper.

Niall’s hands grip at his shoulders, fingertips digging in sharply, and Louis’s dick is chubbing up quick, cradled in the crease of Niall’s hip and thigh, the flush of his skin stark against Niall’s black pants. Niall pulls back, maybe an inch, tongue slipping out to wet his lips. His expression is painfully open, needy in a way Louis’s never seen him. He’s seen Niall drunk, stoned, breathless from claustrophobia, and crying in pain, but he’s never seen Niall desperate. And it hits him suddenly that Niall thought this through, that Niall planned this all the time Louis thought they were just talking shit. Louis always thinks of himself as the devious one, the one who bends people to his will, but Niall has just slipped in under his nose. He’s annoyed and impressed.

“You good?” Louis asks, when Niall’s just looked at him for a long moment and not dived in for another kiss. Louis’s afraid even speaking out loud will spoil the mood, pry them apart like a crow bar, so he keeps his voice low. Niall watches his mouth move.

“Yeah,” he replies. “All good.” Another quick flicker of tongue over his lips and Louis watches it pass. “Do you want to fuck me?”

Louis startles, Niall taking it farther than he expects again. He stares at the dick he’s drawn across Niall’s chest, his own dick curving up hard against Niall’s hip. He’s only just started to consider Niall’s body, and now Niall’s dragging him on again. “That what you came for?”

Niall gestures at the writing on his face. “To be fair, this is what I came for.” Louis looks at him for long enough that Niall has to look away. “Can’t say I didn’t think of it though. When I knew we’d be here like this. But you don’t have to.”

Louis imagines Niall wanting him all on his own in the lead-up to the match, thinking about it, wondering how it would be, maybe touching himself some. A lot of irrelevant questions crowd into his head, but the open hunger on Niall’s face keeps them back. What does it matter how long or what started it when Niall wants him now?

“I’d love to. How do you fancy it? Over the bench like a proper slag?” Louis touches Niall’s cheek gently to show he’s just teasing. “In the showers? I just came from there, so I can promise they’re nice.” He presses forward until their mouths are only a breath apart again, gone giddy with expectation. “That’d wash away everyone’s hard work though. That would hardly be fair.”

Niall nods his agreement. His mouth is rubbed pink and his cheeks are blotchy red. “How long do you recommend I leave it all for so they all feel properly appreciated?”

“Long enough for a few photos to record it for posterity. At least that. It’s just rude otherwise.”

“Then probably you should fuck me over a bench,” says Niall. “Just so’s I don’t make a mess of anyone’s art.” He’s so matter-of-fact about it, and his dick is poking up so obvious it’s nearly obscene in his pants.

Louis hesitates. He’s never done anything like this, never ever properly thought about the logistics of it. The benches are quite low to the ground, and the floor beneath is hard concrete. “Will your knee be alright if we do this? Seems like this might be pretty hard on any joints that happen to skidding along this floor while I’m fucking you.”

“I’ll be alright,” says Niall, but Louis can hear the lie of it, the uncertain waver to the words that says Niall doesn’t believe them but he’s made up his mind not to care. It makes him want to take Niall to bed, properly, not quick and dirty surrounded by the fading smell of strangers’ sweat. He reaches down to palm at Niall’s arse, one hand squeezing tightly. Niall gasps, startled.

“Come home with me,” says Louis. He kisses the corner of Niall’s mouth. His stomach is seething with nerves. Can he promise he’ll want this once they get to his house in Manchester, full of empty spaces left by Eleanor that he doesn’t know how to fill? Niall looks like he’s wondering the same thing.

He swallows dryly. “Isn’t it simpler here? We don’t have to go anywhere.”

“Ashamed to be seen out with me, are you, Horan? That stings a bit, I must say.”

“I’ve got a load of shit written on my face. You might want to consider that.”

Louis runs his thumb across Niall’s cheek. “It’s all very complimentary to my side though.”

“Swear you’re not just trying to put me off,” says Niall, shutting his eyes, and Louis’s out of his depth so completely that he can only breathe for a second. “Swear we won’t get back there and this is all for a laugh.”

“I swear it’s not.”

“Hand me my clothes. My hotel’s loads closer than your house.”

It is. Louis just has time for second thoughts in the car, but Niall has his hands twisted together in his lap, and Louis can’t help the way he reaches out to untangle them, slipping his fingers in between Niall’s and squeezing gently. He only lets go in the underground car park of the hotel.

“You could have just made this the forfeit, you know,” Louis tells him, when Basil’s safely on the other side of Niall’s door. “Cut out the whole middle bit with the drawing.”

“You wouldn’t have gone for it, I don’t think. You wouldn’t fuck me if you thought I didn’t want it, even for a bet.”

“No. Not ever.” The phrasing makes Louis reach for Niall’s hand again. Niall squeezes and then lets go.

“I thought of it though. Offering up my arse to your whole side if we lost. Letting you all queue up like for the drawing.”

Louis’s breath catches. The image in his head makes his skin crawl and his dick twitch. “That’d be a bit different to this.”

“I prefer this.” He still hasn’t said why, why Louis, why now. Louis kisses him anyway. Maybe the why will be something else they understand in looks and gestures instead of words, a shared language of letting things lie under the surface.

They have to get undressed all over again, and it’s awkward and shy like it never was on tour when their bodies were just regular scenery. But maybe they weren’t for Niall even then. Maybe Niall spent time looking when they were all unawares. The thought nags at Louis because Niall could have said. He could have said any time. What did he think they would have done?

“We don’t have to,” says Niall, as though Louis’s doubting the here and now. But in the here and now, Louis’s already made his choices.

He steps out of his shorts and stands like a challenge, hands spread in invitation. “Hesitation like that is what keeps you from being a proper footballer, lad,” says Louis. “You have to be decisive on the pitch.”

“I thought it was my sad, breakable body that kept me from being a proper footballer,” replies Niall.

It’s the perfect invitation to reach out and touch him. “It’s a good body,” Louis tells him, running his hands down Niall’s sides, thumbing at the ticklish spot on his belly. “It’s sexy.” It sounds awkward, uncertain, but Niall smiles.

“Have you done this before, with a guy?”

Louis shrugs. “No.” But he’s half-hard with his hands on Niall’s hips, fingertips tucked down the back of Niall’s pants, spread on the upper curve of Niall’s arse. And that’s enough to know about his sexuality for tonight. He starts to push at Niall’s pants until Niall takes the hint and pulls them off.

Niall’s dick pokes up pink and hard against his belly, the tip already slick, and Louis wraps his hand around it before he can decide against it, Niall’s head tipping back as he gasps. He thinks about saying something just to prove he’s in control, but he’s not. The flushed line of Niall’s throat draws him in, and he settles his mouth there, teeth scraping against that stretch of unmarked skin. Niall’s hips hitch against his hand, and Louis gives him one quick, dry stroke before Niall scrabbles at his wrist, pulling him away.

Niall slides his mouth along Louis’s cheekbone. “I want to come while you fuck me.”

Louis bites at his shoulder, startled and shaky, arousal spiking in his belly. “Yeah? How do you want it, love? How do you like it best?” And it’s a totally different question to the one he asked in the changing rooms.

Niall bends his head to catch Louis’s mouth again. “I can show you,” says Niall, nodding toward the bed. But what Niall does when Louis flops down onto the duvet is crawl on top of him and kiss him for ages, until they’re both breathless and flushed, Louis’s dick straining against Niall’s belly, Niall’s a hot weight against Louis’s hip. Louis grinds up lazily, thinking he could come like this, easy as anything. And it seems like Niall is about to let him when he stops suddenly and rolls to the side, looking at Louis with a lazy smile, like maybe he’s finally relaxing into this instead of overthinking it.

“This is good, right?” says Louis.

Niall nods. “Is it good for you?”

“Bit better before you stopped rubbing on my dick, but not bad.”

“I’ll be right back.” Niall vanishes into the bathroom, and when he reappears, he’s got a condom and a bottle of lube clutched in his hand. “They did a job on my face, didn’t they?” he says, lying down next to Louis again. “You didn’t even say.”

“I don’t mind,” replies Louis. He’s stopped noticing it, honestly, in between Niall kissing him and looking at him all sincere. “I’ll look at other bits of you if you’d rather show me those.” He rolls one of Niall’s nipples between his fingers, just below his dick drawing, Niall shivering and tensing.

Niall’s little bottle of lube looks expensive, like Niall chose it with care, and it’s only half-full, which means Niall’s used a lot of it up. And as soon as Niall slides a slick finger in between the cheeks of his arse, it’s obvious he knows exactly what he’s doing. He presses inside slowly, canting his hips up to take it, rubbing his thumb behind his balls.

And Louis just watches him, open mouthed and aching. It nags at him that Niall knows what he’s doing, that he’s learned exactly how to touch himself like this, that other people have been inside him and Louis hasn’t got the first bloody clue who they are. He slides a hand up Niall’s thigh, spreading him open wider. Niall gasps and looks up, jamming one finger as deep in his arse as he can before slowly adding a second. Louis wants to feel the slick tremble of Niall’s hole under his fingers, and he spreads his hand at the join of Niall’s hip, wondering if he’s allowed.

The hairy dick drawn on Niall’s forearm flexes as he works himself open, and Louis has to struggle not to laugh. He distracts himself by rubbing his knuckles down the shaft of Niall’s actual dick, teasing a harsh little gasp out of him. And when he nudges a fingertip against the slick edge of Niall’s hole, Niall pulls out to let Louis’s fingers replace his, sinking into the easy heat of him. Louis doesn’t even breathe for a moment, feeling him out, letting Niall shift on his fingers until they feel just right inside him and he moans out, “Please.”

Louis fucks him on two fingers, getting into the rhythm Niall’s been using on himself until he’s dizzy with how much he wants it to be his dick. He pauses and holds up the condom, and Niall blinks at him, dazed and dripping sweat all over the drawings on his face. “Please,” he says again.

Niall’s knees tip up as Louis settles between them, and Louis bends to press a kiss to the streak of Niall’s scar before he fumbles the condom out of the packet and works another handful of lube over his dick. Niall shuts his eyes as Louis sinks into him, the slippery heat of his arsehole welcoming Louis’s dick in one slow slide. Niall’s thighs tremble as he tries to spread them wider, and his breath is coming in little gasps, even before Louis gets a hand on him. He knows he can’t last like this, with Niall clenching tight around him as he thrusts, but he wants Niall to come like he asked to. He wants Niall to have whatever he wants.

Niall’s dick feels good in his hand, just the right size to wrap his fingers around as Niall bucks up into his grip. The rosy pink head is messy with precome, beads of it slipping over the fold of his foreskin as Louis strokes him slowly, Niall squirming and moaning under him. Louis’s own dick is painfully hard inside him, every roll of Niall’s hips dragging him closer to the edge. “Can you come for me, love?” he asks, leaning in close to Niall’s ear, the changing angle pulling a whine from Niall’s throat.

Louis kisses him while he comes, so he doesn’t get to see it, but he feels it all over, the spurt of it between their bodies, the tensing of Niall’s thighs against his sides, the clinging heat of Niall’s arsehole around his cock. His balls are knotted up with need as he thrusts a few more times, holding tight to Niall’s hips as he spills inside him. His teeth click against Niall’s as he groans in relief, both of them panting into sloppy kisses until Louis has to pull out.

Niall pulls a face as Louis drops the condom over the side of the bed, but he doesn’t say anything about it as Louis settles against his chest, his face tucked into the side of Niall’s neck. Louis will probably be the one to step on it later anyway.

“You’re fucking up all your teammates’ hard work,” Niall says a minute later, scrubbing at a spot on Louis’s forehead with his thumb. It comes away grey with ink.

“You are, you mean?” Louis replies. “No bloody respect for craftsmanship. You already came all over my hard work,” 

“You talking about the thing you drew on me or your actual dick?”

“Both, to be fair.” He traces over the lightly blurred outline on Niall’s chest. “I’m not bothered though. Even if it never makes it to Instagram, everyone who matters knows you lost. You’re probably hiding your face in shame right now, as far as they’re concerned.”

Niall laughs. “I’m sure they know I’m planning a rematch. I can’t let you have this one over me forever.”

They’re skimming along like stones across a pond, like they both need reassurance that it’s still this easy if they want it to be. The part of Louis that wants to know _why_ gets quieter as he finds Niall’s hand and slots their fingers together.

“Big talk, lad,” Louis murmurs, pressing a drowsy kiss to the corner of Niall’s mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://realmenwearpuppypants.tumblr.com/). <3


End file.
